


Thaw the Shackles Of My Time

by ahhtaestea



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Coffee, Cuddles, M/M, Multiple Dimensions, Other, Possession, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahhtaestea/pseuds/ahhtaestea
Summary: Scheduled routine is something Kun is used to in a very unfamiliar way, from late night hugs to cups of coffee, he finds that he's always drawn back to one specific person. But can you even call them a person?
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Kudos: 40





	Thaw the Shackles Of My Time

He raked his hand through the shaded sand as the night had just begun to break into day. The night was warm but cold for the streak summer had upheld. Perhaps this is signifying the end, perhaps it is signifying the beginning. Or perhaps it simply means that a new day is coming. He’d settle for that option.

The night was cold so he went inside. The house was not much warmer, but forbid a home for the living to ever be considered cold in the blazing summers. His skin was raised but the house was warm. It had to be. 

He made his way over to his bedroom, the door whining as he opened it. There was a person laying in his bed. They were on their side, covers thrown haphazardly towards the end of the bed because the house was warm. 

He padded over gently towards where the person was lying and crouched. He did not look at their face but looked at the form in which they were sleeping. Knees tucked in close, elbow curved under their head with the other arm laying limp on their torso. Their face was hidden behind long black hair, and in the dim light of dusk it still would have been hard to see. 

He stood, noticing a stone cold cup of coffee on the bedside table. He ignored it and walked back to the door.

“Did you sleep?” The faceless figure called out. 

“I slept.” The man promptly replied.

“The sun has not yet risen.”

“Your eyes have not yet opened.” 

As always, there was a simmering silence. A silence which lasted exactly ten seconds. It was always ten seconds.

“Come lay with me.” The figure said, knees slowly uncurling from their protective hold. “It is cold.”

The man walked away from the door and up to the bed with exactly ten steps. It was always ten steps. He climbed in on the side that was not being taken up and turned on his side, looking at the figure’s back.

Five seconds passed and his arm found its way around the other’s slim waist. He snuggled into the person’s neck and closed his eyes.

“But the house is warm.” He whispered.

“This house is never warm.” The figure replied, and the two fell asleep.

\-----

The details of his memories always remain constant. The figure is always faceless and is always sleeping, the day is always scraping dusk, ten seconds of a wait, ten steps to the bed, five seconds until he wraps his arm around the other, and the house is always warm. 

At this point Kun can’t even trust that these are memories. When he first thought of them, they felt so familiar that they had to have been memories, or dreams of a kind. But the days go by and the details remain the same, and their conversations always end a certain way, and well, Kun is not so sure anymore.

He rises from his seat where he’s been slaving away at work for the past three hours. If he didn’t catch a break now then he’d go insane.

He goes to the breakroom where there is a cup of coffee waiting for him. He does not know how he knows it is his but that does not concern his mind as he goes back to his desk with the cup of steaming coffee.

“Kun’s drinking coffee?” One of his colleague’s shouts. He does not spare them a glance and drinks.

“But I thought you don’t like coffee?” Another asks.

“I don’t.” He says curtly, going to drink even more. “It is cold.”

“The coffee? But it was steaming, I just saw it.”

“Not the coffee.”

He crumpled the now empty cup and threw it away.

\-----

It is the hour in which the moon is highest and the world is quietest, and the park is dead. No creature makes a sound, the wind does not rustle leaves, the grass does not even make a noise as he walks in it. Instead, it tickles at his feet in an uncomfortable way.

He runs his hands through the chilled blades, feels the softness of every strand of green beneath his soft hands. The air was thick with humidity and the world silently waited for the summer storm to hit and be done with. Rain was nothing but a blessing at this point. 

He crawls to where there is a figure lying on a picnic blanket, turned on their side. He does not look at their face but at the form in which they were sleeping. Knees tucked in, chin down to their chest, this time both hands tucked into the curve of their legs. Black hair cascades down their elegant visage. He cannot see their face, but he imagines it to be as dark as the night yet as pale as the moonlight.

He stands and begins to walk over to a tree to rest by. 

“How was work today?” The figure calls out.

“Tedious as usual.”

“Did my present make you smile?” There was a delicate lilt to their voice which made him feel obliged to answer with something that would please his ear rather than disappoint it. 

Kun did not fall for their sweet deception. “You know I don’t like coffee.”

“You don’t, but I do.”

“Did you feel satisfied?”

There is a beat before the person spoke, “The moon has not yet sunken.” 

Kun sighs, willing to continue this conversation but there was an unexplainable force compelling him to respond with the given phrase. “And your eyes have not yet opened.” He felt like he was reciting a script. 

The conversation seemingly ends there, but Kun knows better. He counts in his head to ten, and as expected, the figure is late by no tenth of a second.

“Come lay with me.” They hug themselves tighter, arms now wrapping around each other. “It is cold.”

Kun walks from his spot to the blanket with exactly ten steps and gently rolls onto it. He rolls on his side and muzzles his chin into the other’s neck.

“But the house is warm.” He whispers, wrapping his arm around the other and pulling them in close.

“This house is never warm.” They reply, and as the dutiful routine has it, Kun falls asleep.

\-----

He’s sitting in a cafe when this happens. He does not know what this is anymore but now he is almost certain that it is not a memory or a dream. It is both real and fantastical, both present and past, and Kun has no idea what to do. 

He doesn’t fall asleep when these connected images come to him. Instead it is much like a daydream: he sits there, dazed for a few seconds until he comes back to himself. But even then, there is something different.

Kun had spoken about it to his close friends, one advised him to see a doctor whereas the other told him to find an exorcist stat. He had not followed either of their pieces of advice yet, but he imagines that he will do so soon. 

In front of him sits a cup of coffee, steaming. He stands with the cup in hand and throws it into the bin, because he does not like coffee. 

\-----

“What’s happening to me?” He asks slowly as he comes to being in another unfamiliar area. It is a warehouse this time and no matter how familiar the order of events are to him, he cannot help the shiver that runs up his spine.

There are drawings on the walls. The drawings seem to tell a story within them with every stroke. To him, they look like empty lines of different colours and he’s almost glad. He’s not sure he’s going to like what they actually mean. 

Kun walks away from the aggressive lines scribbled into the wall and goes further into the warehouse. There are metal containers all along the right hand side which cause large shaded shadows to loom over him. There is a slither of strong light coming from in between the crack of the shadows. Kun walks over to the light and sees a separation in the containers which leads to another room. He walks through.

Lying in the middle of the floor is the same figure, sleeping on their side. He walks over to them and kneels, watching the way how their hair is curled and hides his eyes. 

“Do you even have eyes?” He finds himself muttering and goes to stroke the hair out of their face when something cold grips his hand.

It’s freezing, like an ice cube which has forgotten how to melt, and it has fingers like an ordinary hand. But they do not feel like fingers. They are murderous as they almost suffocate his wrist and Kun’s eyes widen when he realises that he cannot feel his hand.

“Darling, of course I have eyes.” The figure says, laughing as they drop his hand, snuggling further into their crooked elbow. “You’ve seen them many times.”

“I have never seen your face.” Kun disagrees.

It is now that he realises that he has broken routine. Around now he would be walking away to which the figure would call out to him. Are there consequences for breaking this habitual routine? What would be those consequences? 

The figure laughs, the sound dulcet and alluring. It makes Kun’s bones rattle. He does not like the sound of their laugh, but deep down he feels as if there was once a version of himself that did. 

“Come lay with me.” They said, relaxing from their protective position. “It is cold.”

Kun’s body goes rigid and becomes victim to the person’s honey-glazed voice. He does not feel like himself as he crawls to the other side of where the figure rests and lays there. It takes every ounce of energy for him not to turn on his side and put his arm around the other. Instead, he lies like the dead: on his back, hands overlapped on his stomach. 

“What were those drawings in the other room?” He manages to ask, and once again routine has been broken. But he doesn’t spare himself the satisfaction of having such great restraint this day. 

“Observations.”

“Of what?”

“Life.” 

The figure was deceptively honest, or it seemed so. Paranoia was a foreign feeling when it came to this person, but Kun felt that soon it would become as familiar as his bed.

Perhaps they were being honest because Kun never questioned. He was always the obedient soldier, giving in to a force he knew not of. You really couldn’t blame him since even he had no idea what was going on. 

But as of late he could feel the strings of his sanity pull and there was always this foreboding in his subconscious that something was coming, something out of his control, something big and something scary. His actions began to lack fluidity and conscious effort in this space as if his actions were already written and forced for him to act out.

“I am cold.” The figure said. Kun instinctively turned on his side and wrapped an arm around their torso.

“But the house is warm.” He whispered and his voice shook with a fear of the unknown. His own mind ran at a thousand miles per second, one thought constantly getting pushed to the forefront. _‘God forbid a home for the living to be considered cold.’_

The figure laughed and settled into the embrace. “This house is never warm.”

Kun fell asleep with terror in his heart and a monster in his arms.

\-----  
  


Yukhei arrived at around two in the afternoon, bright beaming smile on his face as he advanced to grip Kun in a tight hug. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” He exclaims as his arms tighten, and Kun cannot help but laugh.

“Of course it has, you have a busy schedule now.” He says, patting Yukhei on the back to ease them both out of the hug. “You’re practically China’s most wanted model!”

Yukhei hits him gently on the shoulder as his cheeks flush at the compliment. 

The both of them walk further into the house and Yukhei takes a seat on the sofa. Kun goes to the kitchen to brew the kettle, shouting to ask what kind of tea Yukhei wants.

“Lemon please!” He shouts back and eases into the sofa.

Yukhei breathes in the familiarity of the room. This place was almost like his second home - in fact, he probably spent more time here than his actual home. Everyone in their tight knit friendship group did. It wasn’t like they didn’t have many places to hang out when they were in high school, it was just that Kun’s house was the comfiest (and his mum made the best brownies). 

  
“So, how are things?” Kun asks as he walks in with two steaming cups of tea. 

“Not bad. I’m a bit flustered with the intense workload but I guess I’ll have to get used to it.” He says with an air of apathy. He goes to pick up his tea and holds it in his palms, staring into the rippling flavoured water. His face is not reminiscent of the Yukhei Kun knows, and he takes note of that. “How’s life with you? You still working that office job?”

Kun nods and sighs. Even just thinking about it is enough to add seven new wrinkle lines to his face due to stress. “It’s boring as always, and our pay just got cut. Again.”

“What?” The shock on Yukhei’s face was almost comical. “They can’t do that.”

“They can, and they did.” 

“Have you said something? Or complained or...I don’t know, have you done something? They’re barely paying you anything now, that has to be some sort of breach in the contract.”

“I don’t know.” Kun shrugs, focusing his gaze on the coffee table in front of them. “If I say something, they’ll just fire me. They’ve done it before.” 

It’s clear that Yukhei wants to talk more about the issue with the way his mouth is moving, sputtering inaudible words due to his bafflement but Kun wants to end the conversation there.

“Enough about me,” He starts, waving his hands around. “I can tell that there’s something on your mind. What’s up?”

And Yukhei thinks that maybe this is why Kun’s house was always so comfortable - it was warm, homely and approachable just like the people who lived in it. Kun was always observant which meant that he always has a way of knowing when something was wrong. He was also a very intent listener, meaning he was someone you could confide in, even for the most stupid of things. There’s a lot of people who would be in a lot of different places if they hadn’t met Kun, he decides. 

Yukhei smiles to himself secretively and nods. ‘Yes,’ he thinks, agreeing with his thoughts. ‘This is why everyone loves Kun. This man is something we should thank the universe for.’

“Come on, tell me what’s going on.” Kun encourages and Yukhei snaps out of his reverie. 

“Well, I’ve just been thinking lately. About this whole modelling thing.” He starts, going to take a sip of his tea. It burns his tongue and he sibilates. 

Kun gestures for him to continue, and so he does.

“I’m beginning to wonder if this is really what I wanted.” The words hit him harder now that he says them out loud. “Of course, this is what I wanted. I mean, I’ve been dreaming of reaching this point since I was a teenager. But now that I’m here, I just thought things would be more…”

“More exciting?”

“I guess?,” Yukhei looked as if he was wracking his brain for the right thing to say and turned to his tea for supposed answers. “It’s like I’m just satisfied. I wanted to be more than that, I wanted to be ecstatic, to be bounding with joy and scream from the rooftops that I did it, you know?” Kun nodded in understanding. “But now that I’m here, I can’t help but rethink my decision. This is what I’ve wanted, so why doesn’t it feel like it?”

Kun has no answer. He doesn’t really know how to respond since he can’t relate to Yukhei’s struggles at all. His own dreams were crushed as a teenager, but Yukhei is here and he’s living them now. But is he?

“When you were a teenager and saw all those models in the magazines and would stay up late practicing those poses, you weren’t in the actual business. You knew that it was harsh but you still went for it, staying up all night practicing walking in your room and giving us mini runways. What did you feel when you got into the agency?”

“I was over the moon.” He laughed as his ears started to redden slightly. “I was so happy that I came running here first thing actually. But the feeling didn’t last.”

“Because it wasn’t meant to. You as a person have changed from when you were a teenager to now. That excitement and adrenaline, that was from your teenage heart which just found out that you were hired by an agency. It was the version of you that was naive to the truth.” Kun’s words stung a little, but Yukhei understood them and appreciated them. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Yeah. You’re saying that this version of me now is different to the one that dreamed of this. That the euphoria only felt so electrifying because I didn’t know, because it was a dream.”

Kun hums and sips some of his tea.

“I know now. I know how things work and it isn’t as pretty as I thought it would be, Kun-ge. I really wanted it to be special.” Yukhei refuses to meet Kun’s eye.

“But it is special. It’s special to you now, you just have to see that. The satisfaction is from your present self, the disappointment and realism is from you as a teenager, the Yukhei with the dream. They’re both part of the same being, but two completely different things entirely.”

Kun puts his tea down and opens his arms out to hug the younger who’s still staring down at his reflection in the tea. “If you really feel dissatisfied you can come work at my office.”

This gets Yukhei to laugh softly. “I’d much rather stay where I am now, thanks.”

“I thought so.” They detached from the hug and Kun stood with his mug in hand. “Do you want a snack or something? I’m not sure what we have but I’ll check.”

“Did your mum make any brownies?”

“Not today, Xuxi. Sorry!” Kun shouts as he walks into the kitchen.

He rinsed his mug and took out some instant coffee from the cupboard, boiling the kettle again. He then searched through the cupboards for a snack for the both of them to eat. There were crisps and popcorn surprisingly, so he took those and took out a bowl.

The kettle whistled so he turned the gas off. He poured the water into his mug and watched as it rose higher and higher until it began to still. He put the kettle down and went to carry the food into the living room. 

“Is that coffee? I can smell it from here.” Yukhei said, peeping over to look at what was in Kun’s mug. “I thought you don’t like coffee.”

“I don’t.” Kun took a sip and put it on the table. “Do you want some more tea? I just reboiled the kettle.”

Yukhei stared at him before nodding. “Yes please.”  
  


“You know where the kitchen is.” Kun said, throwing himself onto the sofa with a laugh as Yukhei groaned in protest, apprehensively getting off the couch as if he were thinking if the journey was really worth it. 

Kun went to pick up his coffee and looked at his reflection in it, but his eyes widened as he stared further into the brown-ish water. A person with thick raven hair cascading down their face and bold, sad eyes was staring directly into his own and he almost found himself entranced. He ripped his gaze away from it and carelessly put his mug back on the coffee table.

He curled himself up into a ball and stared at the mug. That hair, it was familiar. That person was familiar but he had never seen them before. 

“Kun-ge? Kun?” He hadn’t even realised that Yukhei had come back and was shaking him. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 _‘I have’_ , He wants to reply, but doesn’t.

“You’re shivering! Are you cold?” 

He’s still a little out of it but he finds it in him to reply. “No, I’m not cold. The house is warm.” Great devastation falls upon him when he realises what he’s said. The words just slipped out of his mouth, he doesn’t even remember registering what he was saying.

“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say. Here,” Yukhei passes him a blanket but his shaking hands only hold onto it timidly.

Had he not been so shell-shocked from his terror, Kun may very well have broken down into sobs and screams right there when he heard a familiar voice whisper in the back of his mind, “ _This house is never warm_.”

\-----

They were back at the warehouse. The one with the drawings. 

Kun instantly knew that there was something wrong. There was something unsettling. Perhaps these were the consequences for breaking routine. 

This time he starts in the room where the figure was asleep. It is unchanged apart from the lacking body that was once laying at its centre, now replaced by Kun.

As he walks to the crack between the containers his feet hit the floor in soft pats. The lack of overall sound is eerie and uncomfortable, and Kun wants nothing more than to go back to watching a film with Yukhei.

He makes it to the other room and freezes. Routine has not changed today, it’s completely spun on its head. The figure with their raven black hair is sittin on their knees with their back facing him. There’s a paintbrush in hand and they’re drawing careful lines on the wall.

“Do you like it?” They ask, moving their hand to their lap. 

Kun doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move.

The image on the wall is...concerning seems to be the closest word. The angry scribbles of dark blue show frustration and aggression, from the way they’re almost sharp and all over the place. Black dashes attack at random edges with a lost confusion, some longer than others, some splotchier than the rest. 

Then there is a red line, smooth and curved in all sorts of places. It is a continuous scribble that travels throughout the piece centrally, and it looks sad. Mixed with the rest of the emotions, the red line is melancholy and helpless - it’s present, so painfully present but seems to get pushed to the back of everything else. If you were to cut the piece into a hundred mini pieces, there would be a hint of red in each piece, and to Kun, that signified that there would always be a hint of sadness.

“You can understand what it means, right?”

Kun weighs out his options and considers his fear in comparison to his intrigue. Ultimately, it is his heart that leads him to sit next to the figure and stare at the image longer.

“I can feel it, but I cannot understand it.” He says, and up close the red carries so much more weight.

“It is experience.” The figure says and picks up the paintbrush once more. “It is confusion.” They dip the paintbrush into a grey they’d mixed and begins to swirl it in with the red like two serpentines questioning each other. “It is helpless.”

“And it comes together in this piece to form life?”

“Exactly.” They drop the paintbrush and turn to Kun. Their face is very similar to the one he’d seen in his tea, except it is smudged. The person's eyes are blurred, nose flattened, mouth deformed. It is as if someone has dragged their face across the tarmac of a road. “Life I have seen through another’s eyes.”

Kun’s stare was immense and he was battling with himself on whether he should look away or now.

  
“Are you scared of me?” They ask and Kun wants to scream, ‘Yes! I am absolutely terrified and I would very much appreciate it if you stopped summoning me.’ But he doesn’t, because in those fading eyes he sees desperation and helplessness.

He shakes his head but his hands betray his response.

“I just,” His voice quivers as he speaks. “I want to know what you are. I want to know where we are, and I want to know why I’m here.”

“I will answer your questions. I am nothing.” They say.

“That’s not a proper answer.” 

“It is in this case. As of right now, I am nothing. Nothing to your present at least. I do not exist.” They did not say it, but Kun could hear it. _‘Yet.’_

“I am a spirit of what I should be, and you are special to me.” They continue, until they don’t.

“How so?” Kun’s voice trembles and he finds himself biting the inside of his mouth out of raw anxiety.

The person laughs, a sound mellifluous yet unnerving to Kun, and it is now that he debates the idea that this is not a sound a previous version of himself would indulge in, but instead a future version.

“Hold me.” The person commands. “It is cold.”

Kun wraps his arms around their waist and brings them in closer to his chest. They rest their head against him and look at the painting. They are cold. They are always cold, Kun realises.

Their body shakes and Kun thinks that they are crying. He does nothing.

“Is this what I want?” They whisper. “Is life what I truly want?”

Kun pretends not to hear and holds them tighter. Fear is not abandoned, however his heart gravitates to this person. He wants nothing but to console them now.

“What is your name?”

They sniffle and hiccup. “You can call me Ten.” 

Kun wraps his arms even tighter around their thin frame. “You are cold, Ten.”

“You know why.”

“I don’t.” Kun insists. “The house is warm.”

Ten laughs bitterly and snuggles further into the embrace. “This house is never warm.”

Kun’s eyes do not widen in fear but rather close in exhaustion, and tonight he does not see a monster in his arms, but a being in need of comfort. And so he comforts Ten at the expense of his own nerves, but it is alright because Kun is selfless, and Kun is comfortable.

\-----

Kun sees Ten again, but this time it is different. 

They’re both in the same warehouse, and all four walls are covered in paintings now. Ten stands in front of him daringly. His face has not changed at all and still looks disturbingly caricature. Kun would describe it as a child’s drawing of a face that had been smudged over by an inefficient eraser. 

“I owe you an apology.” Ten starts, refusing to make eye-contact. 

Kun doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what Ten is apologising for but he feels as though he should accept it.

“I do not know what it means to live.” Ten says, meeting Kun’s eyes. “As I said before, I do not exist. Not yet at least.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Ten takes in a breath. “I know not of the past or present, only future. I shouldn't be greedy, I should be satisfied. But I'd heard of a life beyond what is now, and I wanted that. I wanted to live.”

Kun doesn’t say anything and just stands. His mind isn’t really processing all of the information and he’s not quite sure he ever will. He looks at Ten, who ashamedly stares at the ground.

“Your talk with your friend was very thought-provoking.” He continues. “It made me wonder if a life is what I want, what I deserve.” Ten rocks on his heels. “Would I regret using your body? Would I regret living? Will I even get the chance to live? But I know now.”

Kun’s lips feel as if they peel away from each other when he opens his mouth. “What do you know?” 

“I know what I want to do.”

They revert back to a natural silence even though there is nothing natural about this encounter. Ten’s still looking at the ground and his shoulders shake ever so slightly. 

“Can you hold me?” His voice breaks in the middle of his sentence, and Kun notices that this is the first time he’s asked. “I’m scared.”

Soft arms wrap around Ten’s midsection and he settles into the hug, resting his head on Kun’s shoulder. He holds sympathy for Ten rather than fear and confusion, but the minute he finds himself being drawn into the hug, he feels the tugs at his mind which signify that he is indeed back to his own reality.

One in which Ten does not exist. Not yet.

\-----

Months pass and Kun doesn’t go back to the warehouse, or the park, or the house. 

Months pass and Kun doesn’t drink coffee.

Months pass and Kun does not see Ten again.

The day he returned he found that there was a painting in his room. It was different to what he had seen in the warehouse but still had that artistic flair to it. It was made up of lines, scribbles and dashes, but Kun could no longer see desperate loneliness. He saw hope. 

So, despite months passing and no sign of Ten, he held onto that hope because he may not know Ten personally, but he knew that he’d be an important figure to his future. 

Months passed but Kun still held onto foolish hope.

\-----

He’s walking along the beach one night, watching the moonlight reflect off of the sea. The night is warm yet also cold in direct contrast to the heat of the summer days. Perhaps it signifies the end, or perhaps it signifies the beginning. He didn’t know.

He sat and raked his hands through the sand. He watched as it flittered between his fingers and rejoined the mound clumped next to him. It was soft but coarse, a little like the night.

He breathed out and wrapped his arms around his legs in front of him. It was cold, but he didn’t want to go back home yet. 

Footsteps sounded from behind him but he didn’t look. He barely even noticed until a figure sat down next to him. 

“Long time no see.” They said, looking at the glistening water.

“Took you long enough.” Kun replied.

“I’m here now though, aren’t I?” 

Kun turned to look at their face and smiled. His face was no longer smudged but was now made properly, his grey eyes sparkling in the moonlight and adding even more emphasis to his unique features. Rosy chapped lips on smooth alabaster skin. Soft eyebrows yet a harsh jawline. Kun decided that the world was filled with some juxtapositions that just could not be solved.

“It’s cold tonight.” 

“It is.”

“Have you slept yet?”

“No.”

“You should sleep.” Kun said. 

“But it’s cold.”

Kun opened his arms out and Ten shifted into his hold. “There,” he said. “You’ll be warm now.”

“You were always so warm.” Ten said and he felt his eyes begin to drift. 

And Kun then decided that this was both the beginning and the end. The prologue was finished and the story could finally begin.

“The house is warm.” He whispered.

Ten nuzzled into his chest even more and relaxed. “It is indeed.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really know what this is but oh well! if you somehow managed to get to the end of this, thank you for reading! this piece is sort of up to interpretation so i’m interested you see what you all thought about it and certain cryptic parts. i promise i'll give you something of better substance soon but writers block has been real pesky this week :((


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